


Hell or High Water

by mahbecks



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Canon character deaths, Chill XV, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Happy Ending, Light Angst, M/M, Masturbation, Mostly Canon Compliant, Potentially Alternate Ending, Romance, Spoilers, valentine's day fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-14
Updated: 2017-02-14
Packaged: 2018-09-24 09:04:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9714611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mahbecks/pseuds/mahbecks
Summary: “We’re in this together, you know,” Gladio had murmured into his collarbone. “Come hell or high water.”“Indeed.”They could do this. They would do this. So long as they were together, nothing seemed impossible.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Valentine's Day! <3 
> 
> I wanted to write a story that showcased some of the most important moments of the relationship that develops between Ignis and Gladio. I think it's mostly canon compliant, but some things may have been fudged a little.

 

The first time Ignis Scientia ever saw Gladiolus Amicitia, he was seven years old.

He had been pulled from his classroom one day, marked as an individual of ability even at that young age, and taken from his school to the Citadel. Many different people had wanted to speak with him, people who served the King in all kinds of advisory capacities, and he had answered question after question about himself. What was his favorite subject in school, what did he like to do with his free time, had he ever played chess, could he make his own meals? At the end of what had amounted to a thoroughly exhausting day, he had been told that he was being given an incredible opportunity to serve the young prince as his own advisor. He would have to quit his old school, of course, and the workload to get him up to speed would be immense, but he was told that it was a very great honor, and he had, of course, accepted. One did not refuse a King.

He had met the prince shortly thereafter, a small, scrawny child with a shock of jet black hair and wide, impossibly blue eyes. Noctis was his name, and when he smiled, he lit up the room. Behind the prince, lurking behind the shadow of the King and his own father, Clarus, had stood Gladiolus, big for his age even then, arms crossed over his chest, unimpressed with Ignis.

“Who are you?” he’d demanded, imperious in a way only eight year old’s can be.

“Ignis,” had been his reply. “Ignis Scientia. I’m going to advise the prince.”

“Yeah?” Gladiolus had looked him up and down then, as if appraising him. “Well, I’m going to be his sworn shield. So don’t you hurt him.”

“I won’t,” Ignis had said, and he had meant it. He would never harm the prince, and not only because it was now his sworn duty to help him, but because how could anyone wish to harm such an innocent little boy?

He had been taken home after that, to tell his parents the news. His uncle, the one who had worked in the capital, had driven him there; Ignis did not know him very well, and the car ride had been exceedingly awkward. Even more awkward had been the clumsy attempts at affection his parents had tried to bestow upon him as he had gathered up his possessions. They had not known how to tell him good-bye, had not known whether to be happy or dismayed at this turn of events.

Ignis had not known what to feel himself.

* * * * *

He had not talked to Gladiolus again for several years.

He was kept very busy with his schoolwork, the assignments for his advanced course load taking him several hours each night to complete. On top of that, he was given additional lessons that would help him become the very best advisor to the prince that he could be - deportment lessons, how to sew and mend clothing, cooking lessons, briefings on the current political climate, agricultural reports, and so on and so forth. It was a massive amount of information to foist upon such a young child, but Ignis had always been mature beyond his years, and he absorbed the knowledge happily, greedily even. He liked learning things; he liked feeling like he could handle any situation. It was stressful, yes, but more than that, it was satisfying.

He saw the prince only rarely in these years. The King kept a close watch on him, especially after an attack by a particularly nasty daemon rendered Noctis comatose. It was only through a brilliant stroke of luck that they managed to awaken the prince at all. After that, Noctis went to Tenebrae for a while, to stay with the family of the Oracle. It was said that one day, the prince would work hand-in-hand with their daughter, Lunafreya, and the Oracle of the gods would come to Insomnia to stand by the side of the King, protector of the Crystal and Lucis.  

Ignis, meanwhile, was still living with his uncle, and completing his studies, when one day the King had visited him. It was time, Regis had said, for him to begin his physical training in order to complement his mental prowess. He was twelve now, beginning to grow into his height; his body was strong enough now to endure the regimen that had been selected for him. It would start the next morning, the King told him. He was to report to the training rooms at seven o’clock, where Gladiolus would meet him.

He had done so, arriving five minutes earlier than was necessary and wearing a pair of dark, slim-fitting sweatpants, a t-shirt, and his sneakers, still pristine from lack of use. To his surprise, Gladiolus was there early as well, already moving on the training room floor.

He topped Ignis by a full head and a half now, and he was easily fifty pounds heavier. He may have only been thirteen, but Gladiolus had been training since he was a child, and his body showed for it. He had questioned Ignis, asked him what sort of physical activity he did.

“None, to be honest,” Ignis had replied.

Gladiolus had blinked at him, as if this was a most incomprehensible response. “ _Nothing?_ ” he’d asked. His voice had deepened since Ignis had heard it last, though it wasn’t quite the basso profundo it would one day be. He then gave Ignis a once over, taking in his clothing and how it hung off his skinny frame. “You’ve been two floors away from the training rooms for years, and you’ve never _once_ come down here and exercised?”

“I’ve been busy.” Ignis’ voice had been stiff, offended at the insinuation that he had somehow been wasting his time by learning to serve the prince.

Gladiolus had snorted and shook his head. “Come on, then,” he’d said. “We have a lot of work to do.”

* * * * *

It had been exhausting, grueling, _excruciating_ at first.

Gladiolus was not an easy taskmaster, and he made sure that Ignis could perform every basic movement perfectly before allowing him to advance. Just as Ignis had predicted, he was not a natural fighter. He struggled with the complex stances and movements that Gladiolus taught him, ill at ease in a body still growing faster than he could realize. This meant that Ignis was often speckled with bruises, sitting in his classroom with aching muscles and tired limbs. He went to bed each night and fell straight to sleep, too weary to bother with worries or the trifles of the day.

But little by little, day by day, he noticed his body responding to the training. His reflexes quickened, his flexibility improved, his muscles developed. He could run for several miles without getting winded now, and being asked to complete a set of push-up’s no longer filled him with dread. One day, he even managed to slip past Gladiolus’ guard in hand-to-hand combat to land a hook on the other boy’s jaw, startling both of them into silence.

It was then, shortly after Ignis’ thirteenth birthday, that Gladiolus decided to begin weapons training in earnest.

“You have a preference?” he’d asked, showing Ignis the rack containing the practice weapons.

Ignis hadn’t the faintest idea of what type of weapon would suit him. Already, Gladiolus was showing a proclivity for greatswords, huge hulking weapons that demanded two hands and more endurance than Ignis was willing to bet his biceps possessed. He feared that it would be unwise to attempt to learn to use such a weapon. But nor did he much care for firearms, though there were certainly enough varieties of those to suit multiple tastes. They were loud and flashy, and once fired, there was no way to hide. In short, they were very unsuited to his style.

“How about these?” Gladiolus had suggested, pointing to a pair of wickedly sharp steel daggers. They were each about a foot in length, the blades tapering to thin points beyond their simple hilts.

 _Easily concealable,_ he had thought, _and not too ostentatious._

He had picked one of the daggers up in his hand, hefting its weight around in his palm. It would still require some strength to employ the weapon with any measure of efficiency, but this was a strength he could build. Eagerness building up inside him, he had flipped the dagger, trying to catch the hilt with the weapon pointing out.

He did not catch it.

To his credit, he did not cry out when the dagger sliced his finger, nor did he feel the least bit faint when he saw the blood hit the training room floor. He had simply stared at the cut, surprised more than anything.

“Shit,” Gladiolus had said, running off to get a rag. He’d pressed it into Ignis’ slack hand, staunching the blood flow, and then glared down at him. “What’d you do that for? It’s sharp!”

“I-”

“Rule number one,” Gladiolus had continued, “Always respect your weapon. Don’t ever assume anything with a blade is dull, and don’t ever assume a gun isn’t loaded.”

“What’s rule number two?” Ignis asked.

Gladiolus had smirked. “Don’t be a dumbass.”

They had shared a laugh at this, the first time a joke had passed between them. Ignis would never forget the moment - the way Gladiolus’ dark, rich chuckle had erased the pain in his hand, how it had made Ignis smile in return, how it made him happy. Never mind that he had needed to go and see a medic in order to stitch the cut up, never mind that his uncle had scolded him, reminded him that he, more than anyone else in the prince’s retinue, _needed_ his fingers in order to do his duties, never mind that the wound would create his very first scar.

He had made a friend in Gladiolus, and no one could convince him that that wasn’t a fortuitous event.

* * * * *

When Ignis was sixteen, the King asked him to begin to look after the prince in a more formal position.

Noctis, fourteen years old and beginning high school, was moved into his own apartments, and Ignis moved with him, being placed in a small apartment just down the hall from the prince. It was so that he could be at Noctis’ beck and call, ready to serve him at a moment’s notice.

It was strange, moving out of his uncle’s apartment and into his own. He realized while he was consolidating his belongings that he had very few possessions, and no furniture at all. He wasn’t sure how he was going to be able to manage without a bed, tables, chairs, or a desk. It had been Gladiolus - or Gladio, as Ignis had begun to call him, at the other’s request - who had eased his mind.

“Oh, the Crown’ll pay for that,” he had said easily one day. He was helping Ignis pack up his things, placing them into boxes and then taping them shut. Or, more precisely, Gladio was moving the boxes around after Ignis had organized and labeled them. “They won’t expect you to buy everything for yourself. You’re just now getting a salary.”

“Did they pay to furnish your apartment?”

Gladio had moved out of his family’s rooms the year before, when he had turned sixteen. He too now lived in a small flat near both the palace and the prince.

“What? Oh, no. I got all my stuff secondhand from my dad.”

“Then why would you expect them to furnish my apartment?”

“Because they offered to decorate mine,” was Gladio’s easy reply. “I just refused.”

“You...refused?”

“Yeah. Liked my own stuff better.”

Was it because his belongings were more comfortable, lived-in? Or because they were already suited to his tastes? Ignis had not yet been to the other’s apartment, so he had not known.

Together, they had moved all of the boxes from one location to the other.

His new rooms were stark, austere even. Each room in the apartment was dark and square, with only a few windows to allow in the light. The floors were a dark laminate as well, and Ignis found that his footsteps echoed around the empty space uncannily. He found that he did not like it.

True to Gladio’s word though, the apartment had come fully furnished - it was standard fare, really, everything made of dark leather, wood, and glass, interspersed with dark fabrics. The only decorations were the curtains hanging on the windows and a small painting of Insomnia hanging within the bedroom, just opposite the bed.

“Nice!” Gladio had said, approving of the decor. “Maybe I should’ve let them do my rooms after all. I kinda like this.” He had stretched out on the bed, arms behind his head.

“Shoes off the bed,” Ignis had said, swatting at his feet.

Gladio had ignored him. “Your bed’s bigger than mine,” he muttered, stretching out. “That’s no fair. You’re smaller than me.”

“Do you want to switch?” Ignis had asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Nah,” Gladio had replied, winking at Ignis in a way he’d never done before, “Maybe I’ll just sleep here instead.”

That had given Ignis pause. “Will you, now?”

“What, you planning on getting between the sheets with someone else?”

This question had done something strange to Ignis, producing a mental image of Gladio in his bed, not wearing a shirt and his hair - just past his ears at this point - disheveled. Ignis had liked this image - he had liked it very much, and his teenage body had _very_ much so agreed. But he had said nothing to Gladio, uncertain of what to make of this new development.    

“I’m just teasing you,” Gladio had said, when Ignis hadn’t replied.

Ignis had attempted to play things cool, rolling his eyes dramatically. “I hadn’t noticed,” he had drawled. And just like that, things had returned to normalcy between them, the strange, heated moment from before gone. Gladio had left, and Ignis had resumed unpacking his things, not finishing until late that night.

He had not forgotten the image of Gladio in his bed.

It had stuck with him all day, making him feel uncomfortably hot and bothered. Eventually, he had made his way to the bathroom, hoping a cold shower would make him feel better. But his hand had dawdled on the knob, and before he knew quite what he was doing, the water was hot and he had stepped into the cubicle, his cock already half-hard in his hand.

He had imagined Gladio kissing him, pushing him down into his new mattress with a gentleness that belied his giant frame, grinding their hips together. He had imagined Gladio’s teeth, nipping across his jawline and down the column of his threat, biting down, hard, at the junction of shoulder and neck. He had been unable to stop the groan that came from his mouth then, or the way his cock had twitched in response to this fantasy stimulus.

He pretended that it was Gladio’s hand on his length instead of his own, Gladio’s hand stroking up and down the shaft of his cock and Gladio’s hand reaching lower to circle his entrance. He had never touched himself there before, and it came as a shock to realize how good that slight pressure felt. He tried to imagine that it was Gladio touching him there, that it was Gladio preparing to fuck him - and just like that, he came, hard, breath coming in heady gasps and skin feeling two sizes too small.

He had exited the shower once he’d regained his composure and cleaned himself up, changed into a pair of pajamas, and gone straight to bed. He had not felt guilty of what he had done, but rather curious. Had these feelings been within him, latent and untested until now? Or was this a recent development? He had attempted to decipher his friend’s body language, words, posture, anything that could have given him a clue that Gladio was interested in them that way.

But he had not come up with anything save their exchange earlier that day, and he had drifted off to sleep, unsatisfied.

* * * * *

Ignis had been eighteen before anything else had happened between him and Gladio.

He had kept his crush - for that was what he had decided this was - to himself, refusing to let himself think of Gladio in that way until he was alone. It had been difficult to keep to himself at times, and Gladio himself had been the key reason for why that was.

Increasingly often, Gladio had begun to flirt with him, placing a hand on his skin when a wave would have gotten his attention, winking in place of a simple smile. At first, Ignis had thought that he had imagined it, and he had filed it away as simply more fuel for his private time. But then Gladio’s hands had begun to linger, and his gaze would go soft in a way that suggested that perhaps Ignis wasn’t imagining things after all.

He had inadvertently confessed his feelings to Gladio one night when they were alone. Noctis had invited a friend over to spend the night, and Ignis and Gladio had both been given the night off for once, though of course, they kept close. The two of them had been in Ignis’ apartment, Ignis having just finished making the both of them dinner, when Gladio had entered the kitchen.

“Dinner ready, Iggy?” he had asked, using the pet name he’d developed for Ignis.

Ignis had simply handed his friend a plate in response.

The meal had been quiet, the both of them sitting on the couch listening to the news while they ate. It had been a comfortable silence, their legs close, but not quite touching, both of them making comments every now and then when they found something particularly interesting. As far as evenings went, it had gone down in Ignis’ memory as decidedly uneventful, pleasant but not too stimulating.

At least, until after they had gone to bed.

It had happened so quickly. Ignis had been dreaming, a terrible, awful dream where he was forced to watch the people he cared about die in terribly painful ways all around him. To this day, he had no idea what had brought the dream on - it would be years yet before he saw anything even remotely terrifying with his own two eyes. But he had awoken in a cold sweat, trembling in fear and gasping for breath.

“Iggy?” Gladio had been quick to stir beside him. “What’s wrong?”

“N-nothing,” Ignis had replied, his voice breaking. Tears had welled up in his eyes then, a natural response to a nightmare, and he had blinked furiously to keep them at bay. “Just a d-dream.”

Instantly, Gladio had sat up, shifting closer to Ignis. “Hey, it’s okay,” he had said, putting a hand on Ignis’ shoulder. “You wanna talk about it?”

“No.”

Gladio hadn’t responded to that. Instead, he had squeezed Ignis’ shoulder in sympathy, let him know that he was not alone. He had sat there with Ignis until he had stopped shaking and his unshed tears had dried up, an unyielding source of comfort and warmth.

“You died,” Ignis had offered then, feeling some sort of explanation was necessary now that he had regained control over himself. “Right in front of me. I tried to stop it, but I…I hadn’t the proper tools.” He had looked down at his hands, as if to assure himself that they weren’t stained with blood as they had been in the dream.

“My death affected you that much?” Gladio had asked after a moment’s silence. He had gone very still beside Ignis, even his breathing quiet.

Ignis had realized his mistake then, but could not have taken it back. So he had turned to Gladio and nodded, attempting to put all of the meaning behind his answer into that one simple gesture, letting the truth hang there between them. It had felt like hours had passed before Gladio responded, and Ignis had already prepared himself for the worst of it when he felt a strong hand on his hip, turning their bodies towards each other.

“Why?” Gladio had asked.

“You know why,” Ignis had replied. “Would you have me say it?”

Gladio’s thumb had come up, brushing against Ignis’ lower lip. “Iggy…”

“I’ve tried to keep it to myself. I could never tell if you were teasing me or not, and I didn’t want to presume…”

“Hey. Look at me.” Ignis had looked up at his friend then, wondering if this was the moment his wildest dreams came true or if this was the moment when they all came crashing down at his feet. Gladio’s eyes had been filled with something he had not been able to name. “If you want me, I’m yours.”

“I do want you.” Ignis had been unable to resist adding, “ _All_ of you.”

Gladio had groaned, his hand on Ignis’ shoulder gripping a little bit tighter for a moment. The next moment, they were kissing, and Ignis had scarcely dared to believe his own luck. It had started slow, gentle and caring, but Gladio had quickly flipped them so that Ignis was lying on his back, Gladio pressing him into the mattress the same way he had in Ignis’ fantasies.

That night was the first time they made love. As the one with more experience, Gladio had led their movements, working Ignis to his peak once, and then twice, before the night was over. He had run his hands all over Ignis, fingers gentler than Ignis could ever have imagined, unable to stop himself even when they both were spent. Trembling in the aftershocks, he had continued to stroke every part of Ignis his hands could reach - his chest, his arms, his hips, his back.

They had slept together, bodies entwined, and woken up the next morning and made love again. This time, emboldened by Gladio’s ardent response the night before, Ignis had taken the lead. It had been his turn to tears moans from the other man’s throat, his turn to suck, and lick, and bite, and kiss the body he had daydreamed about for so long.

When they had finally pulled themselves together, the clock had read ten-fifteen. It had been far later than Ignis had ever allowed himself to rise before.

But it had been utterly, utterly worth it.

* * * * *

When Ignis was nineteen, Gladio came home with the beginnings of a massive tattoo wrapped around his arms. He had immediately come to show Ignis the design, grinning anxiously as he waited to hear his lover’s response.

“So? Do you like it?”

Ignis had shown him _exactly_ how much he’d liked it, with his hands and then with his mouth. He had dropped to his knees then and there, working the other’s cock to hardness with his deft, skilled fingers and then swallowing him whole. Gladio had become naught but a panting mess, pressed back against the door to Ignis’ bedroom, pants riding down around his knees and a hand in Ignis’ hair.

“ _Fuck,_ yes, Iggy, _right_ there,” he had muttered.

Ignis had obeyed, swirling his tongue around the tip of Gladio’s cock and applying a little extra pressure to the underside. He’d been rewarded with a lengthy, drawn out moan, and let out a pleased little hum at this. To both of their surprise, the hum was what sent Gladio over the edge, spilling into Ignis’ mouth without so much as a warning.

“I take it you like the tattoo?” Gladio had asked, smirking, after he had been able to return the favor and rip Ignis’ composure to shreds.

“It’s very nice,” Ignis had replied, drawing a finger down the black lines. “Though now I fear even more people will stare at you, hoping to draw your attention.” His disapproval of that must have been clear, for Gladio had chuckled in a knowing sort of way.

“Let ‘em,” Gladio had replied, kissing Ignis firmly. “They got nothing on you.”

* * * * *

The night that designated their first year of being together was very special for Ignis.

Gladio had always been a generous lover, willing to give Ignis whatever he desired. And, for the most part, Ignis had responded to his generosity quite willingly, taking what he was given and handing the control he so desired in most aspects of his life off to another, if only for a few moments. But there was one thing that he had wanted that he had not yet mentioned to Gladio, though not for any particular reason.

“You want to what?” Gladio had asked when Ignis finally did broach the topic.

“I want to-”

“Yes.” Gladio’s eyes had darkened, and he had reached for Ignis eagerly. “Do it.”

That night, Ignis had been the one in control of their movements. It had been he who had pushed Gladio into the mattress, and he who had explored the other’s body with tortuously slow, light caresses. It had been Ignis who had pushed Gladio’s legs apart, reaching between his legs with slicked fingers as the other hand worked his cock. Gladio had looked up at him with an expression of utmost trust and devotion, and it broke something inside Ignis, some dam he had placed upon his feelings so that he would not drown in the extent of them. Still, he had been unable to articulate the emotions coursing through him, and so he had merely reached down and pressed a kiss to his lover’s lips, pouring everything he could into it.

“ _Shit._ ” Ignis had added a third finger and crooked it, searching for the spot he knew would make the other writhe with want. “Do that again.”

Ignis had complied once, twice, and then withdrawn his fingers, taking the time to roll on a condom before he aligned his cock with Gladio’s entrance. “Are you ready?” he had asked, gritting his teeth from the effort it took to not simply push into that delicious, velvety heat.

“Yes.”

He had never thought that it would feel like _this._ Ignis groaned at the sudden heat, the tight warmth that enveloped him as he pushed all the way into Gladio. He had waited for the other to give him a sign to move, but it had been among the more difficult things in his life to not snap his hips forward instantly, to not bury himself to the hilt.

He had intended to go slowly, to allow Gladio to really feel how good it felt - how good Gladio had made _him_ feel so many times - but he was unprepared for his body’s response, and before long, his thrusts were deep and erratic as he pushed the both of them towards completion. Gladio, for his part, hadn’t seemed to mind - he had always been very vocal about what he wanted during sex, and this time was no exception, giving Ignis the exact instructions he needed to bring Gladio to completion.

Afterwards, Gladio had pulled Ignis into his side, looking down at him with a happy, blissful expression on his handsome face. “I love you,” he’d said, as if this were simply a basic statement of fact and not something so incredibly monumental. “You know that, right?” One of his hands had come up to frame Ignis’ face, his thumb tracing circles on his cheek.

Ignis had nodded, too overcome to speak.

* * * * *

When Ignis was twenty-two and Gladio twenty-three, they had left Insomnia, accompanying the prince to Altissia to meet his soon-to-be bride.

It hadn’t been a strain on their relationship, not really, but it had made some things jarringly obvious to them as they had not been in the comfort of the Citadel. Noctis was their priority - he was their prince and their liege, and it was to him they owed their lives, not each other. Nothing made this clearer than when one of them would get injured protecting the prince. More often than not, that person was Gladio. Ignis would clean out his injuries, tight-lipped and anxious, voice clipped and terse to hide his worry, knowing that whatever he could say would be fruitless.

They knew their duty. They had accepted it, welcomed it, relished it.

That did not mean they enjoyed the consequences of it.

One night, after they had spent long hours climbing a cave for a sign of Ramuh’s favor, the two of them were lying awake in their tent, unable to sleep, uncomfortable.

“At least we’ve got one Astral on our side,” Gladio had muttered.

“One is better than none,” Ignis had agreed. Their meeting with Titan had not gone so favorably, and he was still uncertain what the encounter meant for Noctis. The meeting with the Fulgarian, on the other hand, had been a much clearer bestowal of favor. Finally, something had gone _right_ for them.

“Hey.”

Ignis had looked over to his lover.

“You doing alright? Don’t think I didn’t see you nearly nod off at the wheel earlier.”

“I assure you, it is just fatigue,” Ignis had replied. And that had been the truth - at that point in their journey, it really _had_ been just exhaustion.

Gladio had nodded, turning towards him and cuddling into his shoulder. It had always surprised Ignis how much the other craved such contact, but he was always happy to give it.

“We’re in this together, you know,” Gladio had murmured into his collarbone. “Come hell or high water.”

“Indeed.”

They could do this. They _would_ do this. So long as they were together, nothing seemed impossible.

Ignis had turned towards Gladio then, entangling their fingers, and they had drifted off to sleep.

* * * * *

After Altissia, everything had changed.

Ignis had awoken from the fight with Leviathan to darkness. At first, he had panicked, thinking that he was trapped somewhere, hidden under rubble, perhaps, or taken captive by the enemy. But then, his fingers had felt the warm, soft sheets, a pillow underneath his head. Confused, his thoughts had turned to a blindfold; the pain at the side of his face, after all, suggested he had taken some kind of injury to the head. He had raised a hand, intent upon peeling off the cloth that bound his eyes, but his questing fingers had found only skin where he had been expecting cloth.

Then he had heard Gladio’s broken intake of breath, and he had known the truth.

“What happened?” He had taken pride in the fact that his voice hadn’t shook.

“Iggy…” A hand moved to grip his own, the large fingers nearly crushing in their strength.

He had repeated his question, and Gladio’s response had hit him like a physical blow.

“There was an accident.”

In slow, cautious words, Gladio had recalled the tale of what had happened during Noctis’ fight with the Hydrean. He told Ignis of Lunafreya’s death, of the destruction to the city, and finally, of Ignis’ own grievous injury.

“But Noctis is...he is safe?” Ignis had asked, remembering his duty to the prince even then.

“Yeah, he’s...he’s okay,” Gladio had said. “Recovering. He hasn’t woken up yet.”

“That hardly sounds like he’s alright-” Ignis had started, pushing himself up and preparing to go to the prince’s side despite the sudden bout of nausea that hit him. But Gladio’s strong hands had stopped him, gently forcing him back down to the bed.

“Iggy, no,” he’d said, “not yet. You were more badly injured than Noct was. You shouldn’t move yet.”

“It is my responsibility to be there when he awakens,” Ignis had said stubbornly. He had tried to bat Gladio’s hands away and was startled by how weak his muscles felt.

“It’s _our_ responsibility,” Gladio had reminded him. “I won’t let Noct wake up alone.”

“I should be there.”

“You should be _here_.” Gladio’s voice, previously soft, had gone firm. “You need to rest.”

“Gladio, I appreciate your concern, but I really must protest-”

“Stop it!”

The vehemence in Gladio’s voice had shocked them both. For a moment, neither of them had been capable of speaking.

Then Gladio had resumed speaking, in a much quieter tone of voice. “Noctis isn’t going to wake up for another couple of days, at least,” he had said. “That’s what all the doctors are saying, anyways. So please, Iggy, just rest. Please. For me.”

“I don’t want to rest.” Ignis had been unable to resist the petulant retort.

“Then at least stay here with me.”

Ignis had assented to this - after making Gladio promise that he would go to Noctis’ side afterwards on the off chance that the prince awoke early - and stayed awake for another hour or so before sleep came and reclaimed him. In that time, Gladio had spoken of what was happening in the city and what the Empire’s next move appeared to be. All the while, he had held Ignis’ hand, stroking it absently as he talked. Ignis had not known then if it had been for his comfort or Gladio’s.

Now he realized that it been for the both of them.

* * * * *

They had failed.

Noctis was gone, taken into the Crystal for who knew what end.

The sun had disappeared, leaving the rest of the world in perpetual night.

The three of them - Gladio, Prompto, and Ignis - had stood there for the longest time, uncertain of what to do. Noctis had left them, and with him had gone their duty. They could no longer do anything for him, and that had come as a heavy blow.

What happened to the dutiful when the duty was gone?

Gladio had clapped a hand on Ignis’ shoulder. “Well,” he’d said, “We’d best get out of here.”

“What?” Prompto had demanded, his voice irate. “We can’t leave Noct!”

“You got a plan for taking that Crystal home?” Gladio had asked.

Prompto had faltered then.

“That’s what I thought.”

Though he hadn’t been able to see Prompto’s face, Ignis thought he could feel the boy’s last hopes crumble beside him. His best friend - and perhaps something more - had gone, perhaps forever. They had had no way of knowing then whether or not they would ever see their prince again.

“Come,” Ignis had said, reaching out to grab Prompto’s arm. “Gladio is right. We need to get out of here.”

“I don’t want to abandon him.” There had been anguish in Prompto’s voice, and Ignis had understood. It had been identical to the emotion swirling through his own mind.

“Me neither,” he had replied. “But Noct would not want us to die here. We must leave - and be strong - and wait for him to return.”

And so they had, waiting ten long years for the return of their king.

* * * * *

Now, looking back on everything that had happened over the past twenty-five years, Ignis felt that he was finally at peace. They had been given a duty, an incredibly demanding and all-encompassing duty, and against all the odds, they had made it to this point.

The end.

They were here.

Ardyn was just beyond, and Noctis was going to fight him.

The thought should have made Ignis anxious, worrying over his charge. The daemons were already appearing in the streets - he could hear them, snarling and hissing, accompanied by the strange tearing noise that announced their presence. How much would they have liked to get to Noctis before he was able to confront Ardyn? Ignis should have been terrified, frightened that even now they might fail. But instead, a strange sort of serenity flowed down over him, and he knew that they had done well by the prince.

 _King_ , he corrected himself.

“Hey, Iggy.” Gladio stepped up beside him, a light touch to his back announcing the other’s immediate presence. “Remember what I said, all those years ago? ‘Bout you and me?”

“You’ve said many things about you and me,” Ignis informed him. “You will have to be more specific.”

“Back when we were just starting out on this...quest.” Ignis snorted at his word choice, but said nothing. “I told you that we were in this together.”

Ignis nodded, remembering the conversation now. “Come hell or high water.”

Gladio paused for a moment, and then breathed out a deep sigh. “Well, I think we’ve arrived in hell, and from the looks of it, the water’s rising.”

Ignis had to agree with the sentiment. He turned his face in the direction of Gladio’s voice and smiled. “That may be the best metaphor you’ve ever used,” he replied.

“ _Now_ you’ve got jokes.”

He chuckled and reached out, grasping for Gladio’s arm. He found it quickly and worked his hand down until he reached an open palm. Gladio clasped their fingers together, sensing that that was what Ignis wanted.  

“I can’t think of anyone I would rather be beside, here at the end,” Ignis said softly.

Gladio’s fingers tightened on his. “I know.”

Though he could not see it, Ignis remembered what Gladio’s eyes looked like, full of love and trust and devotion in a most precious face, and it was that wondrous sight that he envisioned now.

And so they said their farewells to their King - their prince, their lord, their _friend -_ and turned to face the tide, pressing in on them now that Noctis had gone to fight Ardyn. The familiar weight of his daggers in his palms centered Ignis, brought him clarity in the cacophony of a thousand daemons suddenly rushing towards them. On his right, he knew Gladio was hefting his greatsword, and to his left, he was certain that Prompto was aiming his gun. They could not stem the waves of daemons forever. It would have been an impossible task, even for the greatest warriors of the age.

As it was, there were only the three of them. A soldier, a strategist, and a dear, dear friend.

But they would fight to the last. Until there was nothing left.

For Noctis.

* * * * *

They should not have survived.

Ignis thought they _hadn’t_ survived.

And yet he awoke to sunlight on his face, and the sound of silence hanging peacefully in the air. Startled, he sat up, reaching out with his hands to identify his surroundings. The ground was hard beneath his fingertips, and grainy - concrete then, or asphalt. A few inches to the left was a piece of rubble, crumbling drywall perhaps, or fragments of stone, and to the right, he felt one of his daggers, the blade still slick with blood. He was still in Insomnia then, probably at the same spot where they had fought the daemons. But then -

“Gladio!”

The name of his lover was torn from his throat before he even knew that he had opened his mouth. If he had survived, then perhaps the others had too! The thought eased the aching in his muscles, the searing pain that he recognized as a wound on his back. _If he was alive, then…_

“Ignis?! Is that you?!”

Prompto. It was _Prompto._

“Where are you, buddy?”

“Here!” Ignis forced himself to his feet, wobbling a little on shaky limbs. “I am here, Prompto!”

A sudden force almost knocked him to the ground, and he clung to whoever it was who had suddenly enveloped him in a fierce hug. They were smaller than he was, both in height and frame, their coarse, scratchy hair hitting his face.

_Prompto._

“You’ve alive!” Prompto cried happily. “You’re _alive_! Here take my hand - you’re standing in a patch of debris!”

“What happened?” Ignis demanded, holding onto Prompto tightly as the other helped him navigate through the rubble to clear ground.

“No idea! I remember this big flash of light, and then all of the daemons kinda let out this wail, and they disappeared! I think I passed out after that though.” He paused. “It all kind of fades together.”

“Are you hurt?” Ignis asked quickly. “Are you injured?”

“No!” Prompto replied. “And that’s the weird part! I’m sure I remember a daemon stabbing me or something! I...I remember falling to the ground, and seeing you there, pinned down when the building collapsed…”

“And Gladio?”

“...I didn’t see him, Ignis. He was too far away from where I fell.”

Ignis nodded, trying to swallow the lump that was developing in his throat.

“Is there any sign of the King?” he asked once he could speak again.

“No.” Prompto sounded sad, and his fingers momentarily squeezed Ignis’. “No sign of Noct. I think...I think he’s dead, Ignis.”

Ignis knew that the words were true as soon as Prompto uttered them. There was no way to be sure, of course, no definitive method of discerning what had happened in that final battle between Noctis and Ardyn - but something within him told him that the King was dead, that he would never again return to these lands.

Noctis had given his life so that they could keep theirs.

Ignis pushed a low, shaky breath out through his nose, and gave Prompto’s hand a little squeeze in return.

“Here we are,” Prompto said, stopping their movements. “You can sit, if you want. There’s no debris here.”

Ignis gratefully took a seat. “I - my daggers,” he said, remembering them. “I left them back there.” And that more than anything was perhaps a sign that Noctis was truly gone - that their weapons no longer materialized upon their desire, but were forever physically manifest.

“I’ll get ‘em,” Prompto replied. “Just sit tight!”

Ignis allowed himself to let his emotions go then, unable to keep them contained. He could feel the tears seeping from his good eye, sliding down his face, and he drew in a great, shuddering breath. He wept for Noctis, he wept for Insomnia and Lucis, and most of all he wept out of sheer relief that it was _done._  

It was over. He had given his life over to the Crown, sworn to protect the prince from whatever tried to harm him. And now, he had seen Noctis’ life mission completed - the dawn had returned, and with it, hope for Lucis. Humanity would continue on, perhaps rushing inexorably towards another such crisis, but _on_ just the same.

He suddenly found that he hadn’t the slightest clue what to do.

A muffled groan shocked him into silence. Perhaps he had heard something else, he thought when there was no further noise. Or perhaps it was simply wishful thinking -

But _no._ There it was again.

“Is someone there?” he asked sharply, his voice carrying around the empty space.

“ _Iggy?_ ”

“Gladio!”

Ignis fell in his haste to scramble to his feet, scraping his hands and knees painfully. He ignored these minor pains, straining to hear the slightest noise to indicate his lover’s presence. “Where are you?” he called. “Keep talking so I can find you!”

“I’m - _ahhhh_ \- here.”

It was from somewhere to his left, down on the ground. Ignis moved towards it as fast as he dared.

“Can you see me?” he called.

“I - yes! Over here!” This time the voice was accompanied by the sound of shifting debris, pointing Ignis more certainly to the right spot. He walked on for a few more moments, and then nearly tripped over something lying on the ground. “Shit!” Gladio cursed, and Ignis guessed that he had stumbled over the other’s leg.

“I’m sorry,” he said, sinking to his knees. With trembling hands, he reached out to find the leg he had stumbled upon. He followed the leg up until he had reached a torso, but where he expected to find cloth, he found rubble.

“Damn building collapsed on me,” Gladio muttered, shifting around and causing small fragments of stone to fall around his frame. “I can’t get up.”  

“Let me help you with that.” Ignis frantically began to dig at the rubble, tearing great chunks of it away with his already bloodied, trembling hands. After a few minutes’ work, he’d managed to free one of Gladio’s arms, enabling the man to help clear the refuse around his own body.

Within moments, he was free, and Gladio surged upwards, enveloping Ignis in an embrace tight enough to draw a gasp from his lips. “You’re _alive,_ ” he breathed, warm breath ghosting over Ignis’ neck. He breathed in sharply, as if trying to confirm through scent that it was really Ignis, and cradled his cheek in one large hand. “ _We’re_ alive.” He drew back, hand still resting on Ignis’ face. “How-?”

“I don’t know,” Ignis said thickly, eye threatening to spill tears again. “I don’t know, Gladio. But we _are._ ”

And then was Gladio was kissing him, lips soft and loving, and so tender Ignis really did start to cry.

Prompto found them there, Ignis’ daggers in his hands, and together, the three of them fled the ruins of Insomnia. They made it as far as the first outpost in Leide before Gladio could go no further, his sprained ankle preventing further movement. Ignis managed to secure them a room at a small, heavily barricaded hotel, its owner as awed and startled by the sudden return of the sun as they were, and Prompto helped hoist Gladio onto the bed before announcing that he was going to look around and see if he could find anyone else. He would return later, he said, and they could decide what to do next.

Privately, Ignis thought that the younger man wanted to give the two of them some time alone.

For that, he was immensely grateful.

Together, Ignis and Gladio managed to tend to their wounds and clean themselves up, though it was slow, often clumsy work. The gash on Ignis’ back was long but shallow, small enough for a restorative to set to mending, and Gladio’s ankle wasn’t as bad as it had looked earlier. Ignis wrapped it in a bandage and gave the other some mild painkillers, bypassing the warning to stay off that leg - a warning he knew Gladio would ignore.

All too soon, their energy was spent, and they collapsed into the bed, falling asleep in each other’s arms. They had, perhaps, hoped for restful sleep and easy dreams, but it was too much to ask so soon after what they had just experienced.

Gladio woke first, with a startled shout that drew Ignis from his fitful slumber. “What is it?” he murmured, reaching out for his lover. Gladio had just turned to him and kissed him fiercely, and Ignis knew what it was his lover had dreamt. He returned the kiss with ardor, wrapping his arms around Gladio’s torso and pulling their bodies close, bare skin warm and real.

It took him a moment to realize that Gladio was speaking into the kisses, murmuring against his lips. He never caught all of the words, only snippets, but they were enough to send a little shiver down his spine. “Almost fucking lost you, Ignis...could’ve died...didn’t see you…love you so _fucking_ much…”

Ignis shuddered beneath him even as Gladio continued to speak the words like a prayer, reciting the same litany over and over again as he worshipped Ignis’ body. Tonight, he was not gentle and soft. He was rough and raw and needy, and Ignis knew that he would even sorer tomorrow than he was right now. But he clung to Gladio all the harder, accepting every tight embrace and every dig of blunt nails into his flesh, needing this every bit as much as Gladio did.

When their bodies finally came together, Gladio pressed their foreheads together, one hand on Ignis’ hip and the other at the side of his neck. His pace was brutal, each thrust sharp, right at the cusp of being painful, but his face never shifted and he never stopped speaking, his deep voice grounding Ignis through the pleasurable haze of their lovemaking.

Afterwards, they clung to each other, unwilling to let go for even a moment lest it all slip away. After a time, their breathing slowed, and they spoke of what had happened back in Insomnia. They talked of Noctis and his incredible, heartbreaking sacrifice, allowing themselves to grieve for their King. They spoke of Prompto, and what would happen to their young friend now. And finally, after what seemed like hours of contemplation and grief, emotions long since run dry, they spoke of each other, and what they planned to do now that the time they had never expected to have had been, unexpectedly, given to them.

“I suppose we shall have to find work somewhere,” Ignis said thoughtfully. Would anyone be willing to hire a blind man? True, he could no longer see, but he was still quite competent with his hands...

“Jobs? You’re thinking about _jobs?_ ”

Ignis felt Gladio shake his head. “Well, what do _you_ think we should be discussing?” he’d demanded irritably. “It’s perfectly reasonable to think about what we’ll be doing for the rest of our-”

“I’m thinking we should discuss us,” Gladio said. “You and me.”

“I _am_ discussing us,” Ignis retorted, sighing. He could see now that this might take some convincing to make sure that Gladio cooperated with him. “Occupations will determine a good many things about our future-”

“Iggy-”

“I can probably find work as a chef, or perhaps as an advisor to an emerging politician,” Ignis continued. “We will have to wait and see who still lives after these past ten years, or course, but perhaps I could be of use to someone.”

“Ignis.”

“Yes? Do you have a suggestion?”

“I do.”

“Alright. Out with it, then.”

“I think we should get married.”

Ignis froze, heart stuttering within his chest.

“We’ve been together for fifteen years now, and I don’t see myself being with anyone but you at this point,” Gladio continued. “I never thought about doing it before, you know, because… well… And it’s already practically official, what with how everyone treats us, but I think I’d like to make it real. Sign the papers, you know, get rings.” He paused, as if just now recognizing that Ignis was silent. “What do you think?”

“Gladiolus Amicitia,” Ignis said, his voice shaking, “Am I to understand that you are _proposing_ to me?”

“...well, yeah, I guess I am.”

“You want to _marry_ me?”

“‘Course I do.” He paused, seeming to consider something. “I’ll do it properly. Propose, I mean. Once we get back on our feet and I can do it the right way. So I guess this is just me letting you know that I _intend_ to propose. I hope that’s okay.” He paused again. “Unless you were meaning to say no?”

Ignis could have strangled him.

Instead, he opted for kissing him until the both of them were breathless.

Gladio gripped him a little harder now, and Ignis could feel the other’s heartbeat against his own chest. “Does that mean you’re saying yes?” he asked, unable to keep the glee out of his voice.

Ignis snorted and kissed him again.

“Yes, you idiot. Of course I’m saying yes.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! :) Feedback is always appreciated :)


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